PAM When you're a kid you assume your parents are soulmates. My kids are going to be right about that.

the office

TOM I wonder if we’ve been selfish, people like us. We wait until we’re thirty-five and then we’re surprised that the babies aren’t so easy to make anymore...

All the while, Burt and Verona are staring at each other. They know how lucky they are.

TOM And every day another million fourteen-year-olds get pregnant without trying... I just wish I could make it work for her. If I could fix it all and just grow a baby for her. It’s terrible feeling this helpless, man. You just watch these babies grow and then fade and you don’t know if you’re supposed to name them or bury them or... I’m sorry.

away we go

JENNY There are some things that success is not; its not fame, its not money or power. Success is waking up in the morning and being so excited about what you have to do that you literally fly out the door. Its getting to work with people you love. Success is connecting with the world and making people feel. Its finding a way to bind together people who have nothing in common but a dream. Its falling asleep at night knowing you did the best job you could. Success is joy and freedom and friendship...and success is love.

fame, 2009

PLAYER (lost) There we are - demented children mincing about in clothes that no one ever wore, speaking as no man ever spoke, swearing love in wigs and rhymed couplets, killing each other with wooden swords, hollow protestations of faith hurled after empty promises of vengeance - and every gesture, every pose, vanishing into the thin unpopulated air. We ransomed our dignity to the clouds, and the uncomprehending birds listened.

(He rounds on them.)

Don't you see?! We're actors - we're the opposite of people!

(They recoil nonplussed, his voice calms.)

Think, in your head, now, think of the most... private... secret... intimate... thing you have ever done secure in the knowledge of its privacy...

(He gives them - and the audience - a good pause. ROS takes a shifty look.)

Are you thinking of it?

(He strikes with his voice and his head.)

Well, I saw you do it!

(ROS leaps up, dissembling madly.)

ROS You never! It's a lie!

(He catches himself with a giggle in a vacuum and sits down again.)

PLAYER We're actors... We pledged our identities, secure in the conventions of our trade; that someone would be watching. And than, gradually, no one was. We were caught, high and dry. It was not until the murder's long soliloquy that we were able to look around; frozen we were in the profil, our eyes searched you out, first confidently, then hesitantly, then desperately as each patch of turf, each log, each exposed corned in every direction proved uninhabited, and all the while the murderous King addressed the horizon with his dreary interminable guilt... Our heads began to move, wary as lizards, the corpse of unsullied Rosalinda peeped through his fingers, and the King faltered. Even then, habit and a stubborn trust that our audience spied upon us from behind the nearest bush, forced our bodies to blunder on long after they had emptied of meaning, until like runaway carts they dragged to a halt. No one came forward. No one shouted at us. The silence was unbreakable, it imposed itself upon us; it was obscene. We took off our crowns and swords and cloth of gold and moved silent on the road to Elsinore.

rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead!